The Hegemony War [IC]

[Toilet Cobra]

Nisis Station is the largest military installation in the Diaspora asteroid belt. Floating in a salt ocean located beneath a mile of protective ice, it has full facilities to repair and rearm the largest spaceships, as well as house thousands of troops.

It’s not much of a destination for shore leave, though. Bundled in your protective cold-weather gear, you haven’t been able to do much more than stretch your legs while your ship, the Trident, is berthed here for resupply. The native Sarcesians are pleasant enough hosts, but their highly evolved forms require little in the way of rest or relaxation-- and as a result, Nisis Station is terribly, terribly boring. No shows to see and no cantinas to visit, set against a backdrop of endless, uniform blue ice. You’ve only been here a day, and already the boredom (and cold) are starting to wear you down.

Although you are not officially part of the military here, your status as Privateers is recognized by all the allied governments, and you are free to come and go as you like. You’ve had a chance to mingle with the soldiers here, talk to trade captains, and peruse what goods there are to be had. You’ve been on board the ship for almost three weeks, so in theory this should be a relaxing, well-deserved stay. But with your business concluded and little else to occupy you, it’s almost a relief when your Comms buzz with the captain’s voice.

“Reese to all officers of the Trident,” he barks. The Lashunta’s bearded face appears in 3-D over your Comms, mouthing the words. “We have received a priority mission. All shore leave is officially canceled. Gather your men and return to the ship, I want liftoff in fifteen. Reese out.”

Given that it takes at least ten minutes to get the ship warmed up and ready to launch, that’s not much time at all to make it back to the docking bay. You quickly finish your business and prepare to gather your men back to the ship. Hopefully your next mission will be near a more appealing port of call.


Welcome, officers, to the front lines of the Hegemony War!

Nisis Station may be dull, but at least it’s well stocked. If you need to purchase any gear, make repairs, stock up on ammo, or whatever else, you can do so here. Please detail any last-minute preparations you wish to make, and then head back to the Trident!

[cecil1994]

Constantine twitches, the tinny sound of the commset still a new annoyance to his blue-hued ears. He stands up. A half-paged book drops from his hands into a burlap pack, and he begins to walk back to the ship- weaving a fragile shell of defensive magics out of habit more than anything else.

Glad to be in the game!

Bowes is casting Mage Armor (duration: 4 hours) and Heightened Awareness (duration: 40 minutes), spinning them in practiced motions as he pads back to the ship.

[StairwayToKevin]

Sonny looks up from his commset and sighs, his breath clouding in front of him. He was finally beginning to find a certain tranquility in the icy caverns, which provide a refreshing change from the heat and noise of the engine room. He has been using the down time to tinker with some gadgets, which he hopes he'll get to try out on the mission. Collecting his things, he takes in the sight of the underwater sea for one last time. As he returns to the ship, he gathers up any lingering mechanics that he passes.

[gravitywolf]

"Aww, really? Damn, I was starting to find some of the good spots here..." Skips was of course, talking to himself, and rhetorically for that matter. The cold was nothing new, but this particular brand of cold-and-frigid was. It wasn't frigid in a literal sense, but it certainly was the feeling he got trying to interact with anyone stationed on Nisis. He'd miss this place, he thought (not really) as he started to make his way back to the ship.

Skips didn't keep his 'side' of the ship particularly clean, which was funny, because 'side' really meant 'a lot of the ship' given where all of the various pieces of equipment resided. It was the unfortunate collective responsibilities of his lackeys that kept it presentable enough. The bad part was that they had slightly more work, but the good news was that Skips was particularly fond of helping them with anything and everything. He enjoyed his team having an amicable, fun atmosphere.

[moondoggy]

At the captain's command Venn taps into the security wideband frequency. "You heard the man, get back to your shipboard posts. Samson, N'hastri, I expect the two of you in my office." The security team quickly beats a hasty return to the Trident, some with decidedly less pep in their step than others. Walking the long corridor back to the hangar Venn fumes beneath the helmet. Can't believe it. Picking fights with another crew. Waste of my training.

Back aboard the ship Venn reaches the office before the two officers. "Not here yet. Not looking good for you two..." After a few minutes there comes a knock on the door and the two men shuffle in with bruised and bleeding faces, looking anywhere but at their commanding officer. "You two. Do you know what kind of trouble you're in? Do I need to spell it out for you? Insubordination, disorderly conduct, property damage, assault, the list goes on. I should have you two thrown in the brig. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

After a moment of embarrassed silence, one of them finally gets up enough nerve to speak. "They started it, boss. N-now wait, wait. I know that's a bad way to start things but it's true. They were talking about the... The Ceres Station job. Talking real mean about how "whoever was in charge of that one needed a bullet in his head" and I-"
"We weren't gonna hear it," interjects the other. "Samson and I, we weren't gonna just stand there and let them badmouth our crew like that. They weren't there. They didn't see how bad it was. I know you told me to keep my temper under control but I just lost it. Plus," the elven woman says with a small laugh, "plus, you didn't see just how punchable that guy's face was. Putting a mug like that on an jackass like him? The gods must've hated his parents."

"Two days in the brig. Malvas will bring you your food. Now get down to medbay before I make it ten."

As the doors crisply snaps shut behind the two bruised officers, Venn takes off the helmet and laughs quietly. "Defending my honor? You knuckleheads."

[Toilet Cobra]

One by one, the crew reassembles aboard the Trident. The crew knows better than to dither-- when the Captain recalls you so abruptly, you know there must be a serious reason. All fifty-four souls are aboard and at their stations within five minutes, and the engines are quickly brought through their boot-sequence.

While they warm up, Captain Reese addresses the ship's officers once more, either over their Comms or in person (for those officers whose stations are on the bridge). Even in person, Reese could be mistaken for a dwarf, with his broad, muscular build, bushy beard, and short frame, were it not for the antennae on his brow. By Lashunta military custom he does not speak directly to the men, entrusting you to relay his orders in the most effective manner to your teams.

"Gentlemen, we've been tasked with a search-and-rescue operation here in the Diaspora," he informs you. "I'm afraid it looks like one of the hidden Creche worlds was discovered by the Hegemony, and almost certainly wiped out. A garbled distress signal just reached Nisis Station about fifteen minutes ago."

The serious mood on the Bridge turns grim. The Sarcesian Creche worlds were too small and scattered to protect with a fleet; their only defense was that their locations were tightly-guarded secrets, not found on any map and protected by sophisticated cloaking tech. If the Hegemony had located one, even a single ship could have massacred the entire population in minutes.

"Obviously, the War Council was hesitant to give us the location of a Creche world, but even they realize that the damage has already been done," Reese grumbles, starting to pace. "Nevertheless, they're asking us to keep our flight path and the destination coordinates secret. So be careful what you share with the men. Mission specifics only."

He taps the navigation console, and a spinning image of the Diaspora's trillions of asteroids coalesces in a ring of sparkling white holo-spheres. Your destination is marked in red, and Bowes can tell at a glance it's some distance away. Two or three days, at top speed.

"As always, I leave choosing the path in your hands, Helmsman," Reese says, addressing Bowes. "Don't play it reckless, but get us as direct a path as possible. If there are survivors out there that somehow got missed by those Eox bastards... then their air is running out as we speak. So cut it as close as you dare, Constantine."

He turns to address you all again. "Lastly, the War Council has offered us salvage rights in lieu of payment. We will of course be on the eye for supplies and war materiel... but I don't think that I need to remind anyone here that we'll be investigating a mass grave. I consider this a mission of mercy, and I don't intend to put salvage before the dignity of the dead. So if necessary, reassure the men that they will still be paid. We have plenty of undivided plunder remaining from the Bretheda mission." He rubs a thick thumb across his whiskered chin. "I don't think it'll be an issue. We've got the crew's faith, and they've earned mine. But just in case they start to grumble."

A rare moment of praise from the gruff Captain. Reese turns back to Bowes before taking his seat. "Helmsman, those engines were ready almost forty seconds ago! Take us out without any more delay."

[cecil1994]

Constantine blinks, eyes sharpened by the pall of magic focusing on Reese's gentled gruffness.

"Of course, Captain. Allow me."

Those same eyes begin to blur. A ring upon the Samsaran's index whirls, interfacing with the navigation console in an array of wandering light. And the language of magic (Draconic, for even when the wyrms pass the tongue they discovered rather than invented will remain) spells out the swirling timelines.

If you've died once, the idiosyncrasies of your past existence play out like a bitter cliché. If you're one of the lucky (or unlucky) few to have died in the multiples, you begin to see the stories for what the are. But if you've died enough that each existence appears no more than a day- if all of time sprawls out before you in half-forgotten memory and tales of different selves- then it becomes impossible to live in a single moment. Time is the last lover of Constantine, and she will never hold him. Time is a river, and he swims upstream, leaping the waters like a salmon heading to the home he'll never reach.

He returns. Time is a river, and he steers the ship.

Alright, here's the crunch.

I'm taking ten on leaving the system. After that, we're going full throttle Foresight on the route-plotting, allowing me to roll at the beginning of my round and substitute it in for any other if I so choose. It's basically roll twice take the highest for this.

I'm also casting Gallant Inspiration on myself, using a bardic past life to the fullest.

Foresight roll: [roll0]
Navigation roll: [roll1] (pick whichever of these is higher)
Modifier, with Gallant: [roll2]

So that'll be a 42. The currents of time are journeyed, once more.

[Toilet Cobra]

Nisis Station benefits from artificial gravity, but Nisis itself is a tiny planetoid with very minimal gravity. Thus it takes only the tiniest twitch from the ship's engines to achieve liftoff, and emerging from the mile-long ice tunnel that leads to the surface is simply a matter of coasting upward at minimal thrust. In moments, the Trident breaches the surface of the planet like a sleek, glimmering sea-creature, leaving the blue world behind and entering the blackness of the void.

Constantine's focus, split between the past and future, notices some interesting data. Although logically one would chart a straight-line course to their destination coordinates, bypassing the Diaspora entirely, Constantine notices that a possibility exists to gain speed by travelling within the path of the asteroid ring. It would be tricky, of course; there would be dozens of additional course corrections to make during the flight, and the set of possible futures where any speed could be gained was quite narrow. But the Captain had demanded speed over caution, and so Constantine would take the chance.

Neither the Captain nor any other member of the bridge crew questioned the Helmsman's odd choice of heading. After a few hours of flight, the course begins to pay off when the ship gains a sudden surge of velocity, moving at a clip several points faster than the engines alone could provide. Although the sensors detect nothing unusual, Constantine knows that he has successfully located the River Between-- an ancient magical slipstream that the Sarcesians use to transport breathable air between their Creche Worlds and have kept hidden for millennia. Riding the swift current of magic at breakneck speed, the Trident quickly closes the gap between Nisis and its destination.

Even though you arrive well ahead of the Captain's projections, it's still almost thirty-six hours of flight before you finally approach within sensor range of the Creche World. When you do, the Captain orders the pilot to slow long enough for a full scan before continuing the approach.

"Don't forget that the Hegemony loves booby traps," he growls. "Mines in particular. Be on the lookout for anything that's scanning us back."

You're up next, Technician! The Trident's sensors are sweeping the area; use your Prof: Technician roll to interpret the incoming data and notice any anomalies.

[gravitywolf]

It wasn't unusual for the Trident to breach such speeds when the navigator was at his best, but it did seem a little unusual how... Painless, it was. Perhaps that was why the captain drew the attention of one of the younger officers. While Skips was not particularly bright, it would be an understatement to say that he was 'good' with technology- he was talented, in ways that someone really shouldn't be talented in the first place.

With nary more than a glance and a quick salute, and armed with that signature grin, Skips hopped over to the scanning console, his hands getting to work on processing commands; his eyes focused intently on the screen before him. He was no maestro, but with the way he was working, it seemed that he could manipulate machinery in a similar fashion.


I'm presuming it's just a straight Technician roll, so:
Technician Roll: [roll0]

[Toilet Cobra]

Information begins streaming through the Trident’s active sensors. The sensor field covers several hundred miles in every direction, so there’s plenty to see, even in this relatively remote area of space.

Skips sees some things on the readout that he wasn’t expecting, and he quickly re-checks his work. Sorting out junk sensor data is as much art as science, after all, and operator error isn’t uncommon. But he verifies his original findings and relays them.

The Creche World itself is a dusty moonlet about a hundred miles in diameter. Vaguely oblong, one of its faces shows signs of colonization: structures, a reactor, the presence of oxygen and nitrogen. But the gases appear to be venting and a cloud of metallic shards is orbiting the surface; clearly they were hit hard. That, at least, is just as expected.

But there are a pair of ships hovering just scant miles away from the surface, both badly damaged. One, a Hegemony slave ship, and the other a stealthy Sarcesian cargo hauler. It looks like the Hegemony attacked while the cargo ship was docked. Instead of fleeing for safety, the cargo ship rammed into the Hegemony slaver at max acceleration, crippling both ships.

The crew of the cargo ship gave their lives to attack the much larger Hegemony vessel. Their sacrifice was not in vain: there are still faint signs of life on the Creche World, despite the damage. The Eoxians were clearly forced to halt their bombardment of the surface while they repaired the damage they suffered in the cargo ship’s suicidal charge.

What is not clear is whether or not the battle is still raging. There are energy discharges registering on both the colony and in the hull of the Hegemony ship, but there’s no telling if the readings are caused by weapons’ fire or merely the result of ruptured electrical conduits.

Skips relays all this information to the Captain, who bolts out of his seat. His mouth splits in a broad grin. “They’re still here? By the gods, we’ve caught those bastards in the act!” Laughing, he quickly thumbs his comm switch. “Reese to all officers: assemble in the shuttle bay for an away team. We’re going to evacuate the surface while the Trident gives you cover.”

The Trident has two small shuttlecraft in its docking bay, maximum occupancy 10 persons including crew. Not much to organize an evacuation with.

You will need to prepare for battle and decide whom or what you want to bring with you (it's been over a day since you left Nisis Station, so assume you are rested and all abilities/spells are refreshed). While you are away, your subordinate officers will run the ship.

You will be bringing at least one NPC pilot (for the 2nd shuttlecraft). Moon, you can decide how many security officers to bring; they can help in battle with their laser rifles and melee weapons, but as they are low level it can certainly be dangerous for them. Weigh your options carefully!

[moondoggy]

"Affirmative. Some of the boys have been getting a little stir crazy." Grinning beneath the helmet, Venn heads down to the shuttle bay. "Listen sharp, soldiers. We're dropping in to extract survivors. I suggest you gear up hard and heavy. No telling what kind of Eoxian nightmares are waiting for us. We go in, get loud if we gotta, and get these people out safe. I need five of you to report to the shuttle bay. If no one wants to volunteer you'd better draw straws. You've got five minutes." The security comm crackles and the line goes silent. That should light a fire under their asses.

[Toilet Cobra]

Skilled lieutenants man the helm and bridge stations as the officers leave their posts for the shuttle bay. As the Trident races forward, it skirts a broad path to the port side, aiming to keep the Creche World between the ship and the Hegemony vessel as long as possible.

Meanwhile the officers assemble alongside the security team in the shuttle bay. Venn quickly divides the personell into two crews; one shuttle will be piloted by Mr. Bowes while the other will be commanded by a capable lieutenant. The shuttles themselves are light, unarmed craft, fast and maneuverable but not suited for combat. The Trident itself will provide cover if needed; the shuttles need only concern themselves with arriving safely.

The shuttles embark, leaving the artificial gravity of the hangar and merging into the weightlessness of the void. Through the wide view screen, you can see the devastation of the attack up close. Clouds of metallic shards hover over the blasted domes on the surface. Pieces of unidentifiable debris nearly as large as your shuttle float by, along with cargo pods, ruined machinery... and the occasional corpse. Overhead, like a sinister moon, the enormous, crippled Hegemony ship floats in its own cloud of debris, its main guns thankfully pointed away from the surface by its helpless rotation.

Looking for a place to land, the crew chooses to utilize the blasted docking bay on the surface. Although the retractable dome has been completely destroyed by Hegemony cannons, it boasts a minimal forcefield that retains breathable air during docking procedures. This field is still in place, and the landing area is large enough to accommodate both shuttles at once.

As the shuttles maneuver into position, the shadow of the Trident passes overhead. The captain's voice crackles on the comms. "Reese to away team," he announces. "The Eoxians don't appear to want to fight-- or maybe their guns are just damaged. Regardless, you're all clear to advance. But just to be safe, the Trident is going to cover your movements. We'll watch you on sensors and maintain position between you and the enemy as long as we're able. You may want to start with the section to your left, the strongest life signs are coming from that direction."

The shuttles set down in the ruined dome, brushing aside clouds of metallic fragments and vented gasses. This area still has artificial gravity, but it's maintained at the Sarcesians' preferred strength, which is about a third of standard. You exit the shuttles and take up positions while you examine the area. There are three visible exits from the docking bay, to the east, west, and south. There doesn't appear to be any sign of life around you, and the air is frigid. It's a clear sign that life support is breaking down, if it hasn't already, and the area likely won't have breathable air much longer.

Examining the heavy door leading to the west, you note that both the door's hydraulic mechanism itself and the nearby terminal have been damaged. While the door can be cut open with a laser torch, it might be more prudent to attempt a normal bypass; if the door is cut open and this area loses atmospheric containment, it could result in a rapid loss of air throughout any connected sections of the base.

Landing the shuttles in the wide open docking bay is a piloting check easily passed by taking 10, so I've skipped that.

The door in front of you is controlled by an electronic computer terminal nearby. Both the terminal and the actual mechanism of the door are malfunctioning. Repairing one or both is possible; the terminal may give you information and broader access, but if the door mechanism itself is not repaired, then the door will have to be cut open with a laser torch.

Repairing the terminal is a Prof: Technician check. Repairing the mechanism is a Prof: Mechanic check OR a Knowledge: Enginnering/Mechanical check. Aid another can be used.

[gravitywolf]

Technician Roll: 1d20+12


Cold air. Silence. Surely the signs of death in most cultures. As Skips took a step out of the ship along with the rest of the away crew, he couldn't help but feel a little.... Off. It was strange for the Eoxians to not attempt to kill them, and even if their guns had broken, surely they would have some sort of backup plan, right?

Right.

The technician scratched his chin, an soon enough his eyes laid rest on the malfunctioning terminal. Sure, they could simply bust the door open and leave, but given that it seemed there was already a lack of oxygen, he wasn't a fan of getting rid of the rest.

Anyways, he wasn't the one to fix the door anyways.

Skips made his way over to the terminal, stretching his hands out and cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect as he got to work. He was unfamiliar with this model of terminal, but every piece of technology was merely an adaptive version of an older version. He came to learn that everything could be broken down to its roots, it was just a matter of how far you wanted to go.